


I Want The Sea

by roebling



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, High School, M/M, Unfinished and Discontinued
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-29
Updated: 2008-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA ... the unfinished Jersey Shore!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I think I started writing this in 2006 or 2007? Not sure. Either way, I've always been very fond of it. There's little to no chance I'll ever finish it, but I thought I'd share the 15000 words I've got.

Gerard did not want to paint the ocean. It was a big flat nothing. He’d been sitting at the end of the pier for two hours and all he’d done was draw a horizon line three fifths of the way up the canvas and block in the bottom part with a dull flat green and the top part with a uniform light blue. The blobs of acrylic on his paper plate palate had filmed over, and his brush water was murky. The sun felt like a halogen lamp. The sleeves of his hoodie were pushed up to the elbow and there was a dark spot of sweat on his back. If he got hot enough, maybe he would pass out, and if he passed out maybe that would convince Donna to send him to Newark to stay with his grandma.

But even though sweat ran down his back and the sun was so bright there were spots of brilliant white dancing across his vision, Gerard did not pass out. He tossed his first palette and squeezed out more paint. The waves he painted looked like something a five year old would draw. One of the big fishing boats was coming around the inlet. Gerard watched for a while as the little figures on board scurried around. That was more interesting. He gave up on the painting, even though that was for class, and got out his sketchbook.

Boats weren’t Gerard’s favorite thing to draw, either, but he was more comfortable working with his Micron pens. His first boat looked wrong, but his second sketch was pretty decent. By the time he was on his third, the boat had nearly reached the dock, and the crew was doing some pretty interesting things with ropes and nets and pulleys. Gerard got kind of into it. The boat slipped neatly into its spot. Aggressively suntanned men leapt to the shore.

The fisherman started unloading their catch; everything smelt of fish, strongly enough that Gerard set down his pen. His back and his fingers were cramped. He stood and rolled his neck lazily and cracked his knuckles. The painting had long since dried. He tossed his garbage and picked up his cup of brush water to dump it.

“Hey,” somebody shouted. “Don’t do that.”

Gerard turned. He felt his cheeks redden. One of the guys from the ship – a short guy with broad shoulders and tattoos – was walking towards him.

“Uh, sorry,” he said.

The guy smiled. “That’s okay,” he said. “It’s not like the water isn’t skuzzy already, but no point in making it worse than it needs to be.” He wiped his hand on his dirty jeans and held it out. His fingers were crusted with white and shiny bits of fish scale. “I’m Frank.”

“I’m Gerard.” He took Frank’s hand gingerly, but Frank was apparently one of those aggressive kinds of people Wayne told him about; he shook Gerard’s hand so hard his knuckles turned white.

“You here for the summer?” Frank asked. He didn’t give Gerard a chance to answer. “I figured because you’re not one of the regular dudes I see painting out here, and also, no offense, but only a shoobie would be wearing a hoodie today. It’s like ninety degree out.”

“It is hot,” Gerard said.

“Yeah, man,” said Frank. “I don’t know how you’re not passed out. Hey, can I look at your painting?”

Frank didn’t wait for any kind of permission. He turned the easel and stared at Gerard’s canvas intently.

“Um, it’s not very good,” Gerard explained. “The ocean’s kind of a boring thing to paint … just water and stuff.”

Frank made an indignant noise. “Oh no way! There’s a hell of a lot more than just water. And like, in the afternoon when a storm is blowing in? The water gets choppy, and it turns this beautiful purple color. Man, you have got to come to my house and see some of my mom’s stuff.”

Gerard wasn’t sure if he had offended Frank or not. “Um, okay. Is your mom a painter?”

“Was a painter,” Frank said. “She passed away.” He made the sign of the cross.

Gerard was starting to wonder if this was a heat-induced hallucination. He never knew what to say when people sprung this kind of stuff on him. “I’m so--“

Frank cut him off with a wave of his hand. “It’s alright, dude. She died when I was nine. It was a pretty long time ago.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “But you should come over to see her stuff. It’s really awesome.”

“Yeah, wow. That would be great.”

“Sweet,” Frank said. He grinned. His teeth were really nice. Gerard hated people with really nice teeth.

Then someone called Frank’s name. He glanced over his shoulder at the boat. “Oh shit,” he said. “I gotta run, Gerard. But give me your hand. Wait--” Instead, Frank wrote his number on the back of Gerard’s left hand. His fingers were warm and rough. “Call me, okay?” he said. Then he turned and briskly jogged back towards the boat.

Gerard stared for a long time, his head spinning a little. He slowly packed up his things, and then walked to the boulevard to call Donna for a ride.

\-----

At dinner that night, Gerard wasn’t allowed to wear a tee shirt, so he sulked.

“You have nice clothing,” Donna said. “Lord knows I spend enough money on them.”

Gerard frowned and resisted the urge to remind her that it was Wayne’s money she spent on his clothing. There was no point in fighting. He wore a black polo and khaki school slacks and even brushed his hair. That was as good as it got. He didn’t say a word on the ride to the restaurant, not that he had much opportunity. Mikey wouldn’t shut up about this kid Pete he met, and how Pete was a surf champion, and how he had his picture in magazines, and how he was going to teach Mikey to surf, if it was okay with his mom.

“Now, honey,” Donna said. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea …”

Mikey made his most pitiful face.

“Oh, let the kid try it,” Wayne said.

Donna glanced at him, her eyebrows drawn together. Gerard knew that they were going to argue, so he turned on his iPod. Mikey smiled blissfully. Wayne always managed to persuade their mother.

The restaurant was fancy, with three forks on one side of the dinner plates and two knifes and two spoons on the other. Gerard hated these kinds of places. There was nothing on the menu he really wanted to eat. Everything was seafood; Gerard hated seafood. He picked at the chicken he ordered, scraping off the lumpy orange sauce that covered it. Mikey and Donna went back and forth about surfing the whole time. Wayne asked Gerard how his class was going. Gerard answered as briefly as he could manage.

Then Mikey spilled his Shirley Temple; the electric pink stain spread all the way across the table. Donna got flustered, and started scolding. Mikey’s lower lip trembled. Tears trickled out from under the heavy frames of his glasses. Wayne got that determined look in his eye and flagged the waitress silently. Soon enough it seemed like every waitress in the place was at their table, sopping up the spill, doling out new napkins, scooping up spilt ice. Gerard wanted badly to bury his head in his hands. Instead he stared hard at his lap.

They took Mikey to the arcade after dinner to make him feel better. Wayne went off to try to win him a plush unicorn. There were things about Mikey that Gerard just did not get. He went to sit outside with Donna. They walked over to the stand across the street and got Italian ices. Gerard got cherry because he secretly liked the way it dyed his lips red.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do with him,” Donna said.

Gerard shrugged.

“You need to talk to him, Gerard. Can’t you get him to settle down a little?”

Gerard was amazed his mother was asking him to exert any kind of influence on Mikey. Generally, Gerard was considered the fuck-up son; Mikey was comparatively a little angel. “I think he’s just going through a phase?”

Donna’s laugh attracted stares. “Oh, honey. You and your brother have been going through phases since the day you were born.”

Gerard rolled his eyes. They finished their ices in silence. Gerard wondered how lame it looked to all the people passing by, for him to be sitting there with his mom. He’d gotten over being embarrassed of her specifically a long time ago, but moms were an embarrassment on principle, kind of like wearing anime shirts or using one of those wheeled backpacks at school.

“Are you going to let me go stay with Grandma?” he asked.

Donna smirked. “Nope,” she said. “Not if you ask me a million times. Wayne paid a lot of money so we could all have one last summer together before you go off to school. If you’re not here, it’s kind of a waste.”

“Doooonna,” Gerard whined. “I hate it here. And I’m not going to college.”

“You’re going to college,” she said.

Gerard frowned. “I’m not going to Dartmouth.”

Donna narrowed her eyes. “You’re going to Dartmouth, Gerard. We can only have this discussion so many times.”

Mikey and Wayne were walking across the street from the arcade. Mikey was beaming and had a unicorn under each arm. They had fuzzy pink manes and tails and iridescent horns. Mikey ran up and shoved one of the unicorns at him.

“Her name is Sprinkle,” he said.

Gerard held the toy awkwardly on his lap the entire ride home. He tried to give it back to Mikey when they got back to the house, but Mikey got all wide eyed and said that she was Gerard's to keep. He stuck the thing on top of the dresser in his bedroom, but its little black nubbin eyes were fixed on him all night. It was seriously creepy. Before he could sleep, he had to stuff it in the bottom of his hamper, underneath all his stinky socks and underwear. Even then, his dreams were bad that night.

\-----

Donna was taking Mikey shopping for new pants at an outlet mall. She'd shaken Gerard awake at some ungodly hour and asked if he'd wanted to come, but shopping was among the least enjoyable activities on the planet. He made some unintelligible half-asleep reply and flopped back into the soft of his bed. At nine thirty, the terrible alarm on his cell phone started shrieking. He dragged himself into the shower.

Downstairs, it was eerily quiet. Wayne had gone back to the city for a few days to take care of something for work. The fridge was empty of everything except Styrofoam take-away containers. The thought of greasy linguine re-heated in the microwave turned Gerard's stomach. He made a pot of coffee, poured himself a cup, and filled a thermos to take to class. He needed to leave, if he wanted to get there on time.

There were so many joggers and so many cyclists. Gerard felt particularly lumpy and slow. Women who were at least Donna's age wore matching neon Lycra sports bras and shorts and nothing else. It was pretty gross. Gerard hated women who couldn't admit they weren't twenty years old any more. He hated when Donna acted that way. Gerard was dying to be an adult; he didn't understand why so many old people acted like kids.

It was otherwise a nice walk. The morning was still cool, and all the houses were kind of crazily ostentatious and awesome to look at. Though there were pedestrians, there was hardly any car traffic. Gerard stopped at the bagel shack and got a sesame bagel, toasted with cream cheese. He burnt his fingers and the cream cheese oozed out and got all over his hands. Gerard loved bagels.

The Island Art Institute was a weird place. Gerard really appreciated Wayne paying for the classes and all, but still. There was an oversized iron sculpture of a jellyfish out front and bright wooden flowers stapled to the fence. Some rich old guy had donated the compound years ago with the stipulation that it couldn't be modified, so all the buildings were peach pink stucco. The staff and everyone were nice, but they were super spacey. Gerard guessed you kind of had to be to work at this kind of place.

He went to the restroom to wash his hands and loitered around the gallery until it was time for class. They were showing the work of a local woman, big bright paintings of children crouched around a tidal pool, of a beach umbrella and cooler, of waves breaking around a pair of hairy ankles. Gerard thought it was nice, but kind of hokey.

Virna breezed through the door at ten fifty-five; class started at eleven. She wore a white caftan and large silver earrings and carried an umbrella although there was hardly a cloud in the sky. The other kids were already waiting at the door of the studio. The cool well-lit room was dominated by the tableaux they had started painting the week before. It seemed like a jumble of whatever had been lying around in the closet: a fern, two wine bottles, big shells, a model sailing ship, other miscellany. Gerard set up his easel. He got his canvas from the cupboard and put paint on his palette. The work he'd done last week looked childish now, and bad. He almost wanted to ask if he could start over but Virna didn't believe in mistakes; she would tell him that what he had was great, he just had to recapture the spirit. Gerard didn't think this painting had any spirit. It was just lame, just a slapdash attempt at representing a pile of stuff.

"This has substance, Gerard," Virna said when she came around the room to check on his work. "What are you doing here?" She pointed to a spot he'd just been working on, the green wine bottle.

"Um," he said. "I was trying to make it transparent and not at the same time."

"You're doing some really great things with light and dark," she said. She held her chin in her hand in a thoughtful way. "But what about all of this?" She gestured broadly at the rest of the canvas, which was little more than flat blocks of color.

Gerard flushed. "I guess I was working on the interesting part first," he said.

Virna laughed her booming laugh. "The interesting part? You know better than that, kid. It's your job to make it all interesting."

She slapped him on the shoulder so hard he stumbled and then moved on to the next easel. Gerard set his mouth and stared at the scene again, hoping it would suddenly appear as a complex and fascinating arrangement of color and shape, but the longer he looked the more and more it just seemed like a pile of dull, isolated objects.

At the end of class he cleaned up and put his canvas away, but he felt strangely flat. Sometimes art left him feeling like a helium balloon, bright and buoyant, but sometimes it just made him feel terrible. Virna reminded them all that their ocean landscapes were due in four weeks if they wanted them to be included in the mid summer show.

It was much hotter now, and it took Gerard twice as long to walk home. The house was still empty -- knowing his mother, she and Mikey wouldn't be back until the evening. He put his portfolio away and ate some leftovers. The noise of the television didn't make a dent in his loneliness. The air conditioning droned faintly. Outside it was white-hot. He'd slept pretty well the night before but he ended up in the living room, curled up on the big white couch, not napping but not doing anything else either, just staring up at the stuccoed ceiling, willing himself not to cry.

\-----

Gerard was determined to spend as little time as possible at the beach. Donna had accosted him that morning. She'd even bought him a new pair of swim trunks and a big plush towel with a pretty neat looking shark design on it. But cool shark or not, Gerard was not twelve. He was a high school graduate, and he wasn't going to be bribed that easily. Anyway, he had work to do this summer; he couldn't laze around on the beach all day like some people. Donna laughed at him and packed up her wagon with coolers and beach chairs and spray bottles and towels. Mikey stood in the driveway, arms crossed over his skinny chest, a wide smear of zinc on each cheek.

Gerard watched them go and then went and lay on the back porch for a while. The sun made everything glow with heat. At eleven he went in and gathered up his shit and trudged to the pier. Today the sky was hazy and the water was dark. The boats were all out. A few seagulls circled, hoping to spy a bit of trash bobbing in the lagoon. Painting did not go any better. Gerard brought his iPod so at least he was distracted, but the blue of his water still looked too blue, or too light, or just not right, and his waves still seemed flat instead of fluid. It wasn't like it was a terrible painting, but art was the one thing Gerard excelled at, and he wanted it to be great.

The salt water made him thirsty. He didn't want to leave his easel, but there was a little seafood bar close enough that he ought to be able run over and grab a soda and still keep an eye on this stuff. There was hardly a soul around, just two kids messing with crab traps down at the end of the pier and an old guy walking a miniature pincher back and forth along the beach. Gerard stuck his wallet in his pocket and jogged over to seafood place. A sign in the shape of an anthropomorphic shrimp with platinum blonde hair and exaggerated kissy lips read 'Pinky's Seafood - Fresh off the Boat'. Inside it was cool and dark and smelled so strongly of fish Gerard's stomach turned right over. The floor was cement and puddled with grey water. In the big coolers that lined three walls, all kinds of gross weird creatures of the deep rested on icy pyres. By the door stood one lone cold drink case -- and they were out of Diet Coke.

"Hey!" someone said.

Gerard looked up. It was that Frank kid. Shit. "Hi," he said.

"Dude," Frank said. He wore little peaked white cap, a stained apron, and had in a nose ring. "You never called me, Gerard. That's pretty lame."

"I ... uh." Gerard felt the flush crawl up his neck to his face. "Sorry? I wasn't even thinking and I washed my hands with turpentine when I got home that day and then I couldn't make out your number ... "

"Oh, it's fine," Frank said, grinning suddenly. "You want to come over today?"

“Okay,” Gerard said. He didn’t know how to say no without being rude.

“Sweet,” Frank said. “I get off at three.” He grabbed a horrible floppy fish from somewhere, slapped it on the countertop, and started hacking into it with a clever. With just a few neat chops, he reduced the fish into slimy slabs of flesh.

Gerard went and got a Sprite from the drink case. He took out his wallet but Frank waved him off.

“You can just have that,” he said. “We keep those mostly for the crew.”

“Thanks,” Gerard said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Frank said. He brandished the knife, flicking bits of scale and gut. “Go do your painting thing and I’ll come out when I’m done.”

Outside, Gerard stood in a spot of shade and drank his soda slowly. The bubbles made him feel bloated and sluggish. He painted for another hour or so, and then cleaned up his stuff and sketched while waiting for Frank. He thought about calling Donna, but she wasn’t expecting him home. He knew she was really trying hard to give him space.

Frank got off exactly at three. His face and arms were red, like he’d just scrubbed them hard.

“Hey,” he said. “How’s the painting?”

“Pretty good,” said Gerard, even though it wasn’t.

“Nice,” Frank said. He wiped his hand on his pants. “So anyway, I’m Frank Iero.”

“Gerard Way.”

“Nice to meet you,” Frank said. They shook hands again. “So you ready to see some art?”

“Um, yeah,” Gerard said.

“Let’s go,” said Frank.

He had a car; Gerard had never been so glad. The shitty blue Corolla took a few minutes to start up, but it had air conditioning and decent speakers. Frank blasted some really aggressive punk music. Gerard wanted to ask him what band it was but didn’t dare. His musical taste extended only as far as to anything given to him by Mikey or Ray. Frank drove fast and told a lot of stories Gerard wasn’t sure he believed about some infamous long-ago hurricane. The flooding had been so bad they’d had to canoe down the boulevard. During the high tide the ocean had met the bay. In the aftermath, Frank’s father found three sea turtles stranded in their backyard.

Frank lived on the far north end of the island. These streets were lined by cedar-sided beach cottages, smaller and older, with little plots of grass or flower gardens out front. The lighthouse seemed marvelously close, looming just beyond the next row of houses. It was more like the real world, here. The island was wider. The sea didn’t seem so imminent.

Frank stopped the car in front of a tiny, cozy house that had a pretty big yard. Crooked pines shaded the house, and the soft copper colored needles of past seasoned carpeted the ground. They didn’t go up the steps to the front porch, but rather around to the back of the house. A fence cut the front yard from the back. Frank hoisted himself over the fence and dropped easily down on the other side. Gerard balked. Did Frank expect him to follow him over? There was no way he could make it over the fence without making a complete fool of himself, if he could make it over at all. But then the latch clicked and the gate swung open.

Frank's back yard was like a shipwreck pawnshop. There was stuff literally everywhere: glass balls and bits of net hanging from the stubby pine trees, beach umbrellas, fishing poles, a huge tower of lobster traps, a beautiful bone-pale piece of drift wood twice as tall as Gerard.

"Wow," said Gerard.

"Pretty neat, right?” said Frank. "This is Pop's stuff. He goes out every morning on his bike before the garbage trucks come."

"It's like a museum or something," Gerard said.

Frank laughed. "Pop would love to hear you say that. He’s crazy about all this garbage."

There were two Weber grills and a roughly carved tiki head on the porch. Frank unlocked the back door and Gerard followed him through a pocket-sized kitchen, a petite living room, and up a flight of narrow stairs. The inside of the house was as brimming with wonderful strange things as the outside had been, and Gerard's fingers itched to take out his pad and draw some of what he saw. Frank's bedroom was smaller than his mother's closet back home, but it was pretty awesome. The walls were covered with posters of surfers and punk bands ripped from magazines, and a few beautiful framed prints of tall ships.

Frank dropped his backpack onto his bed. Gerard stood awkwardly by the door. The windows were all open and a ceiling fan spun lazily, but it still uncomfortably warm. Frank didn't seem to notice the heat but Gerard's chest and back were sticky with sweat. Maybe they didn't have air conditioning; the old house in Belleview hadn't either, but they'd moved from that house to live with Wayne the year Gerard turned ten. He barely remembered it now.

"You done thinking?" Frank asked. He grinned.

Gerard flushed and stuffed his hands in the pouch of his sweatshirt. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Sorry."

"It's cool, dude," Frank said. "I could almost see the wheels going around in your head."

"I ... uh, I get distracted pretty easily," said Gerard.

"Oh man," said Frank. "Me too. The school wanted to put me on Ritalin all the time when I was a kid because I was like the terror of their lives, but my mom would never agree."

Gerard laughed a little awkwardly. He was getting that tight anxious feeling in his chest, even though Frank seemed pretty all right.

Frank rummaged around in a pile of dirty laundry. "I’m going to go change out of these fish stink clothes,” he said.

Frank went into the bathroom. Gerard felt like a peeping tom, alone in this strange room. He didn't really care about Frank's mom’s paintings. He kind of wished he'd just gone back to the house. Donna and Mikey were probably back from the beach, red from the sun and sleepy from a day outside. With careful coercion, they could probably convince Donna to take them to the movies, even though there was only one movie theatre on the island and the films it showed had been out for weeks. Gerard really liked the movies anyway – he liked the dark, the air conditioning and the smell of fake butter and he really liked all the previews.

Frank came back, not wearing a shirt. He might have been short, but he had a pretty nice body, and a surprising number of tattoos. Gerard stared for ten seconds and turned away. There was no way he was going to make that kind of a fool out of himself with Frank, who was just some nice kid. Probably they’d never even hang out again after today.

“C’mon,” he said, holding open the door for Gerard. “Most of my mom’s stuff is up in her studio.”

That tiny house had a miraculous third floor. They climbed up a set of funny stairs more like a ladder than anything else. Frank popped open a panel in the ceiling and they emerged into an attic studio. The light was so good Gerard considered asking if he could camp out for a while. The floors were beautiful smooth old wood. All the walls were covered with giant canvas panels.

Frank was right. They were fucking awesome. The ocean waves frothed and danced. The sky was immense, full of green and purple thunderheads, or wide and infinitely clear. Some of the paintings had boats in them, boats that looked very much like the one he’d seen Frank on that first day at the pier. Most were just sea, sky, and an occasional strip of low green island sandwiched between. These paintings seemed more like the ocean than the real thing ever had.

“This one’s my favorite,” he said, eventually. The one he liked best was different than most of the rest. A boy stood at the edge of the water, hands in his pockets, looking out towards a gorgeous sun, big as a grapefruit, sinking under the horizon.

“Yeah?” Frank said. “I like that one too.” He smiled a devious little half smile.

“Hey!” said Gerard. “It’s you!”

Frank laughed. He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. The honey-warm light shone on his nose ring. “Yup. Little old me. My mom did that one winter when my dad was down in Florida. Couldn’t get any work around here. He was gone for three months.”

“Wow,” Gerard said. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Frank said. “If I’m missing her really bad, I come and sit up here for a while, and I remember all the good stuff. How much she loved me and Pop, and how much she loved this place.”

“Yeah,” Gerard said. “You can feel how much emotion she put into them.” Even after twelve years of art classes and three years of A.P. Studio Art, he still didn’t know how to talk about this stuff without sounding like a moron. “I guess you have to really care about something to paint it this well.”

Frank didn’t reply. Gerard hoped he hadn’t said anything wrong. He stared at the paintings. He looked at the old drafting table up against one wall; it looked as thought it hadn’t been touched in years. Gerard wondered how long ago Frank’s mother had died. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing you could ask a person.  
At last he asked, “Did your mother grow up around here?”

“Nah,” said Frank. “She was from Montana. Came out here one summer, met my Pop, and never went back.”

“Wow,” Gerard said. His own parents’ relationship had been tediously devoid of any romantic detail. They’d met at the bowling alley next to the hair salon where his mother worked. Maybe there was more to it, but he hadn’t seen his father in twelve years and he didn’t dare ask Donna about it.

“You want to go see my boat?” Frank asked.

“Okay,” said Gerard, even though he didn’t really.

They climbed back down the ladder and went back down the stairs and got back into the Corolla and drove about five minutes to a public beach.

“Better leave your shoes in the car,” Frank said. “Probably don’t want to get them wet.”

Gerard didn’t. He hadn’t realized this would involve getting wet. Weren’t boats usually pulled right up to nice wooden docks so you could get on right from land? He untied his sneakers and took off his socks and balled them up inside. He rolled up his jeans to his knees and felt pretty foolish.

Frank waded into the water. Ten yards out, perhaps a dozen and a half little boats were moored. Gerard followed tentatively. There were gooey bits on the bottom – they were slimy and horrible and when he stepped on one he recoiled. Frank had already reached the side of a little sailboat, painted cheerful green. He grinned at Gerard.

“Nothing’s going to eat you,” he called.

Gerard rolled his eyes and slowly made his way out. He fixed his gaze straight ahead. Looking at the water only made him think of the squelch of mud between his toes. He knew Frank was probably regretting getting mixed up with such a nutcase. The water came up to mid thigh. Gerard’s jeans were soaking wet. He wasn’t really fantastically happy, but Frank was still beaming.

“This is Lydia,” he said, slapping the prow gently.

It was a beautiful boat. Gerard couldn’t tell a kayak from a catamaran, and still he knew it was a beautiful boat. “She’s great,” he said.

“Yup,” Frank said. “My dad gave her to me when I turned sixteen.”

“When I was sixteen my parents didn’t even trust me with a car,” Gerard said.

Frank laughed. “I grew up with one foot in the water. My dad’s worked on the scallop boats his whole life. I’ve been sailing practically since before I could walk.”

“That’s really cool,” said Gerard. “Are you … Do you work on the boat too?”

“No way,” he said. “I help out Pop sometimes and I work in the shop to earn some extra cash, but I’m not part of the crew. Pop says he won’t let me until I’m twenty one.” He splashed diffidently. “He wants to give me time to figure out what I want from life.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Gerard said. “I wish my parents were more like that.”

“I know what I want to do, though,” Frank said, stubborn. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted to do is go out on the boat with Pop and the guys.”

“Well, you’ve got Lydia, right?” Gerard said.

“Yup,” Frank said. “And we’re totally going to win the Labor Day Regatta this year.”

“Oh really? What’s that?” Gerard feigned interest.

“What’s that? What’s that?! You’re kidding me.” Frank made a horrified face. “You really are a shoobie, dude.”

“Uh, sure, if you say so.”

“Oh man,” Frank said. “You’re like a newborn babe. The Labor Day Regatta is a fucking island tradition. Every year at the end of August the Surf Beach Yacht Club sponsors the race. The winner gets five grand and a year’s worth of glory.”

“And you’re going to win?” Gerard asked. “You must be good.”

“The best,” Frank said. He gave Gerard a sidelong look. “You don’t know a jib line from a hole in the ground do you?”

Gerard laughed. “Nope.”

“Damn,” Frank said, laughing too. “Didn’t think so.”

“I’ve never been on a boat in my life,” Gerard said. “Unless you count the ferry to Ellis Island.”

“Never in your life? No offence, Gerard, but no wonder your painting sucked. We’ve got to get you out on the water.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Gerard said. “This is about as much ocean as I can handle.”

“No way, you’re not getting off that easily,” Frank said. “Next time I have a day off me and you and Lydia are heading out.”

\-----

The two little boys ran from the pit they'd dug in the sand next to their mother's blanket down to the water's edge and back again. And again. And again. And each time they toddled past on their unsteady little legs, they kicked up a spray of sand. It got all over Gerard's towel. It got in his bag. It got in between the pages of his magazine. It got in his iced latte.

Gerard pushed up his sunglasses and gave those boys the nastiest look he could muster, snatched up his towel, and stalked ten yards down the beach. He really hated the people around here. They were even worse than the people back home, and that was saying something. It was like when people were on vacation their brains switched over into automatic idiot mode. Gerard was pretty pleased that he'd managed to stay sane so far.

It was probably at least a hundred and ten degrees in the sun. Gerard pulled out the broad brimmed straw beach hat he'd stolen from Donna’s closet and regarded it for a moment. It was hardly the weirdest thing he'd ever worn, and even with the SPF 45 he'd put on he was getting burned. It wasn't that girly of a hat, anyway. It's not like it had fucking ribbons. He glanced around. Nobody was giving him any looks. Nobody was paying attention to him at all, thank God.

He'd also stolen a pack of cigarettes from Donna. Okay, he felt kind of bad, but she didn't really smoke any more, and it was her fault he was here. The lady next door had invited her on a house tour, which was just about the stupidest thing Gerard had ever heard of. She'd left the house at nine thirty in the morning wearing a little bit too much makeup, a nice purple dress, and carrying one of her fancy bags. Mikey, of course, just had to go to the beach, and since Wayne was out fishing with a client, Gerard was the sucker who had to take him.

He had his sketchbook, and a couple of issues of Italian Vogue (which, OK, he only read because some of their shoots were art, not like the shit in US fashion rags). It kind of all right, sitting there on the sand, even though he was sweating bullets and his tee shirt was plastered to his back. He lit one of Donna's cigarettes and coughed a little. The smoke tingled going down. Gerard didn't really smoke either, even though he was eighteen and could buy a pack of cigarettes any time he liked. It was more fun to steal them from Donna, and since the smoking ban in the city he felt kind of like a leper every time he lit up. Besides, Wayne's mom had died of emphysema a few years back; it had been pretty bad.

Mikey was walking up from the water with a short tan kid by his side. He crouched down when he got to Gerard's towel.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, pulling Donna's hat off Gerard's head.

Gerard gave him a look and snatched the hat back. "Subverting the dominant paradigm," he said, and he blew a whorl of smoke into Mikey's face.

Mikey spluttered. "Jerk," he said. He stood up. "This is Pete. Um, do you think you can give us some of that money mom gave you?"

Pete grinned. Gerard guessed he was probably about sixteen, but he already had a big tattoo low on his flat belly. His teeth were soap opera teeth: amazingly white and straight. Gerard didn't like him one bit.

"What do you want money for?" he asked suspiciously.

"We were just going to go get sodas," Mikey said, rolling his eyes.

Gerard frowned. "Isn't there a truck that comes around? Can't you just wait for that?"

"Geraaaard!" Mikey whined. "Come on! Stop being such a loser. We're just going to go for a walk."

"Fine." Gerard huffed and dug a ten out of his pocket. "You better have your cell phone on you."

"I do," Mikey said.

"You better stay on the sidewalks," he said.

"We will," Mikey said.

"You better be back in a half an hour," Gerard said.

"We will, Gerard," Mikey said. He looked kind of pained.

Pete was snickering. Gerard wanted to slap his face.

"Bring me back a diet cherry coke, okay?" he asked.

Mikey nodded.

With great reluctance Gerard handed over the money. Mikey smiled goofily at him, his eyes crinkling into slits behind his glasses. Pete stood with his arms crossed over his chest. They turned and dashed clumsily up the beach. Gerard thought perhaps they would stop and come back and ask him to come too, because it was obvious he wasn't really having a good time. But they ran past the lifeguard stand and up the boardwalk, and then disappeared over the other side of the dune, and then they were gone. They didn't even look back.

\----

"Dude," Frank said. "You never said you lived in a mansion." He was lighting a cigarette and messing with the stereo and driving all at once.

"We don't actually live there," Gerard said. He stared out the window. "We're just renting it for the summer."

Frank rolled his eyes and laughed. "That's even worse, man. That just means you've got an even bigger mansion somewhere else."

Gerard frowned. Their house in the city was nice but it wasn't that big -- and it was in Harlem, which okay, was a decent neighborhood now, but had been pretty rough when Wayne bought fifteen years ago. He stared at his lap.

Frank finally got his CD to play by banging on the stereo. He had the AC on despite the fact that it was only eight in the morning and not really warm out yet. Gerard wished he were back in his nice warm bed, in his supposed mansion. It would have been pretty easy just to let Frank's six AM phone call go to voicemail. He should have figured Frank for an asshole. Most people were.

"Hey," Frank said as he swerved to pass someone in a shiny red Bimmer on the right. "Don't fucking lame out on me, Gerard." He swore and honked his horn as the prick in the fancy car accelerated suddenly.

Gerard clutched his armrest. "Shit," he said. "You’re insane. And yeah, whatever. It's not like I wanted to rent a damn house here anyway. I wanted to stay in New York."

"You're from the city, huh?" Frank asked.

"Yeah," Gerard said. "Well, I'm originally from Essex county, from Belleville. We moved to New York after my mom remarried."

"Nice," Frank said. "And what do you do in the city?"

Gerard shrugged. "Go to school. Well, went to school. I graduated. I draw a lot. Um, go to the movies? I don't know."

Frank laughed again. "That's some flashy metropolitan lifestyle you've got."

Gerard felt a little bad. Who the fuck was this guy who spent most of his time covered in fish guts to laugh at him? He slouched in his seat and for the rest of the ride kept his answers to one word.

The beach where Frank's sailboat was docked was desolate. Gerard grabbed his backpack and walked down to the water. It was a gusty day, and the little waves lapped persistently at the shore. He'd come prepared this time, wearing a cheap pair of flip-flops. Frank pulled the boat into the shallow water. Gerard stood around awkwardly as Frank messed around with ropes and sails and other things. He didn't ask if Frank needed any help. With his big toe he dug little holes in the wet sand.

"Okay," Frank said. "Let's push her out."

They walked the boat out to deeper water; when it was up to their knees, Frank motioned for Gerard to jump in. The boat rocked as he clambered over the side, and he clung to the little bench seat. Frank took it out another ten or fifteen feet before climbing on board himself. Then the wind caught the sail and they were going, fast. Frank steered them out between the other boats moored in the cove, out into the open bay. The wind was strong and salty in Gerard's face. His hair blew everywhere, and he had to dig an elastic from his bag to tie it back.

Very soon it seemed they were very far from land. Frank's car was just a little blue spot. The houses looked like dollhouses. The water was choppy and blue-green. Gerard thought maybe it would stink out on the water, like fish and seaweed, the way it did at the house sometimes when the tide was very low, but the air just smelled cleanly of salt. There weren't too many other boats around. The sky was flat as a plate and as blue as pool water, so bright it was almost painful to look at.

"Come here," Frank said.

Gerard scooted towards the stern, nervous. It was a small boat, and Frank was a pretty small guy, and he was not. He didn't want to overbalance it or something and have the damn thing capsize. That would be beyond the pale of mortification. Frank grabbed his hand.

"You can steer for a while,” he said.

Frank placed his hand over Gerard's on a kind of wooden pole thing that stuck out horizontally. "This is the tiller," he said. He pushed it slightly to the left. The sail shifted, and the boat swung around to the right. Frank straightened out their course. "It's not rocket science," he said. “Just keep us going straight ahead."

Frank took his hand away. Gerard held on so hard it hurt. He could feel the tug of the wind on the sail. He could feel the slap of the waves against the hull. Gerard had never driven anything before, not even a car. It was a pretty cool feeling, knowing the boat was under his power.

"Neat, right?" Frank asked. He smiled. The long forelock of his hair blew in his face.

"Yeah," Gerard said. "Yeah, it is.

Frank took over again when he said they had to come about. Gerard didn't know what that meant, but Frank suddenly had them both shift to the other side of the boat. The sail hung slack for a little while, and then the wind caught the other side, and they were off again in the other direction. It was weird, sailing. It didn’t seem like they were going anywhere, and yet forty-five minutes passed before Gerard even thought to check the time on his phone.

Frank loved the bay. Gerard could tell that. He pointed out a bunch of the little marsh islands by name, and he told Gerard about the old railroad bridge and the island down at the other end of the bay that disappeared back into the sea during a bad storm.

“I guess you’ll never leave,” Gerard said.

Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s a lot of other shit to see in the world. But I’ll come back, I’m sure. Do you want to stay in New York forever?”

Gerard laughed bitterly. “I would, if I could,” he said. “But I have to leave for school in two months.”

“Where are you going?” asked Frank.

“Uh, Dartmouth,” Gerard said, embarrassed.

“Dude,” Frank said. “You never said you were a genius. Ivy League, man. That’s intense.”

“Not really,” Gerard said. “My step-dad is an alum. And my high school had a really good reputation. My SATs were shit, seriously. If I hadn’t applied as a studio art major I would never have gotten in.”

Frank frowned. “Whatever, Gerard. You got in, didn’t you?”

Gerard shrugged. “Yeah. It's cool I guess. Darthmouth’s kind of in the middle of nowhere, though. No offense or anything.”

“I love nowhere,” Frank said. “I drive into Philly like at least three or four times a month to see shows or do shit, but I think I’d go nuts if I lived there.”

“I didn’t really like New York at first,” Gerard admitted. “But I guess it’s kind of like home now. And I got into Pratt, which has a really amazing illustration program. But Donna and Wayne think it’s going to be a healthy experience for me to leave home, which is just bullshit.”

“If you really feel that way, you’ve got to tell them,” Frank said. “It’s your life.”

“Yeah,” Gerard said, miserably. “But it would break Donna’s heart. And Wayne was thrilled when I got that acceptance letter. I just … I don’t want to go.”

“Got a girlfriend you don’t want to leave behind?” Frank asked.

“Uh, no,” said Gerard. “Not likely.”

Frank laughed. “And the mysterious Gerard tips his hand.”

Gerard’s cheeks were red, and not just from the sting of the wind. He fussed unnecessarily his phone, even though he got no reception.

“So hey,” Frank said. “Let’s make for dry land.”

He did some kind of fancy sailing things and brought them around to the north side of one of those little islands. It seemed nothing more than a little smudge of green sticking out of the water but there was a surprisingly wide beach hidden among the reeds. Frank brought them right to it, and they both jumped out and pulled the boat up onto the sand.

Frank produced a cooler from the bottom of the boat. Gerard spread out their towels in a funny patchwork puzzle of a blanket. Frank had brought beer, and it was very cold and probably the best thing Gerard had ever drank. All his bitterness from the morning was forgotten in the heat and sunshine. They sat Indian style on the ground and ate hummus and cucumber on pita and big sloppy slices of watermelon.

“I didn’t ask if you had any particular dietary restrictions,” Frank said. “But I’m a vegan, and if you were anything weirder than that, I might have taken pause.”

“You’re a vegan fisherman?” Gerard asked, giggling.

Frank laughed too. “Dude, I know, I know,” he said.

Gerard threw his watermelon rinds into the inscrutable green marsh grass. The thick dark mud stunk. “Is that okay?” he asked, turning towards Frank.

Frank was on his back. He’d taken off his shirt. Gerard had to look away.

“Oh, hmm. Yeah,” Frank said, distant and sleepy. Gerard lay down on the towel beside him. They were two feet apart, maybe less. Gerard was overheating. Sweat pooled on the back of his neck. He sat up. Frank had a watermelon seed stuck to his upper lip.

“You’ve got …” Gerard reached over and gently thumbed the little black seed loose. Frank opened his eyes suddenly. His mouth quirked into a smile, and he did something … not a kiss, really, but he pressed his lips up against the pad of Gerard’s thumb. They were soft and rough at the same time. Gerard drew his hand away like Frank’s touch burned. Frank closed his eyes again.

Gerard lay back down. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he did, curled on his side in the warm sand, memorizing Frank’s profile through the blur of barely open eyes. He woke stiff and sudden, unsure of where he was. Frank was sitting beside him, finishing his beer.

“All rested up?” he asked.

Gerard sat up and rolled his neck. “Think so,” he said.

“You want to go for a swim?” Frank asked. He was already on his feet.

“Okay,” Gerard said.

He waited. Frank ran into the water and dove under. Fifteen feet out he popped to the surface, spluttering and dripping.

“Come on,” he called. He waited, hands on his slim hips.

Gerard took off his shirt slowly. His lower arms were brown, upper arms white like milk. His body was soft and pale. He could feel Frank watching him. He closed his eyes and waded in.

It was warm and kind of lovely. Gerard went under. His wet hair was tangled. He took out the elastic and shook it out.

“Hey, watch out, fucking shaggy dog,” said Frank. He pushed a huge wave of water at Gerard.

That was it, then. They splashed until they were both breathless. Then Frank floated on his back, still and lazy. Gerard tried to float too but he didn’t like the water in his ears and he couldn’t stay still; he kept sinking. Frank laughed at him. He swam over and took Gerard’s arms and spread them and took him by the ankles and spread his legs out and put his hands on Gerard’s shoulders to still him, and even then Gerard could not float. It was not surprising; Frank’s hands on his shoulders sent jolts down to his toenails.

Sopping, they crawled back to the beach. They sat on towels and let the sun dry them. Gerard tried very hard not to worry about the way his pale stomach folded when he sat. Frank’s hair dried into a frizzy horror. Gerard drank another beer. His lips tingled happily. When he was dry, Gerard put his shirt back on and helped Frank pick everything up and put it back into the boat. Off they went again away from that little secret place, back towards the island, which was obscured behind a curtain of hazy afternoon heat.

“So you want to do this again, right?” Frank asked.

“Yes,” said Gerard. “Definitely yes.”

\-----

Gerard was squirming. He couldn't sit still, even though every time he moved it felt like his back was being flash fried. Last night he'd slathered himself in aloe gel, which was lime green and full of bubbles and pretty cool, but he was still badly sunburned. He leaned way forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"You're being weird," Mikey hissed.

"Fuck off," Gerard muttered.

"Sit up," Mikey said. "Be friendly. Mom's gonna be so mad if you're more of a weirdo than usual."

Gerard sat up. "It's her fault for dragging me here," he said.

"It's not that bad," Mikey said. "We could go outside. Mom said there were kids out there."

"Don't wanna go outside," Gerard mumbled. "Sun is gross."

"I guess you didn't think it was gross yesterday," Mikey said, eyes narrowed. "Where'd you go, anyway?"

Gerard shrugged. "Here and there," he said.

Donna swept through the room, arm linked with a woman in a horrible gold dress. "Boys!" she said. "This is Mrs. Smith."

Gerard and Mikey shook the woman's hand. She had long pink acrylic nails and wore a little too much makeup, but she was not bad looking, for an old lady.

"Spencer and his friends are out back, boys," she said. "You should go join them."

Gerard knew they were being dismissed. He followed Mikey through the crowded living room and out onto the deck. A few men stood around a grill, beer bottles in hand. Two little girls with swimmies on their arms splashed in an inflatable pool. This was not really a good time. Gerard wanted to call Frank. He'd been thinking about it all day. Frank had given him his number again, programming it right into Gerard's phone. That seemed like a good sign. Still, Gerard was probably just being an idiot. Maybe he'd send a text message, later. Maybe.

They walked down to the beach. A handful of kids sat in a circle on the sand. A rumpled looking guy strummed a guitar. Mikey walked up and stood outside the circle. Those kids ignored him for a little while. He patiently waited. Gerard's stomach started to churn.

"Hey," said the kid with the guitar at last. "Mrs. Smith sent you down here?"

"Yes," Mikey said. "And Gerard. He's my brother." He pointed. Gerard waved dispiritedly.

"I'm Jon," he said. He bent his head and started to play another song. Mikey sat down and introduced himself to everybody. Gerard didn't get it. Mikey was scrawny and wore thick glasses and got really obsessed with lame things like American Idol, but he was sometimes surprisingly bold. Gerard didn't introduce himself. He didn't want to make friends. He couldn't say why, but he didn't like these kids; didn't like their polo shirts and white sneakers, didn't like their stupid spiky hair, didn't they way they jostled and laughed so familiarly with each other.

He took off his shoes and walked by the water for a while. He found a green piece of sea glass, a brown piece of sea glass, and half of a curved purple shell. Later, when Mrs. Smith called them back inside for dinner, Gerard picked at plate of macaroni salad. He had no appetite. He wandered back outside. The evening had come and the bugs were out, and the deck was deserted now. He dumped his plate in the garbage can and leaned against the rail and stared at the dark water to the east. Infinitely far and just above the waves, the slivered moon rose.

Someone came up and stood beside him. It was Wayne.

"Hey," said Gerard.

"What's up, kid?" Wayne asked.

Gerard shrugged.

"Had to get some air, huh?" Wayne said. "I don't blame you. It's a little much in there."

"Yeah," Gerard said. "I can't stand when Donna gets around people like that."

Wayne rolled his eyes. "She's having a good time, Gerry. Cut her some slack."

Wayne was the only one who called him Gerry. Gerard had long since given up trying to stop him; Wayne loved nicknames. "Okay, whatever," he said. "Doesn't mean I have to hang out with all those asshole guys."

"Nope," Wayne said. "Doesn't mean that."

Gerard frowned. It was really hard to argue with Wayne. He got mad about once a year.

"I'm ready to head out myself," Wayne said. "There's only so much I have to say about fishing and golf. You want a ride?"

"Duh," Gerard said. "Should I go tell Donna?"

"No," said Wayne. "She's got her car. She'll figure out where we went.”

They walked around the front of the house, past the smoky tiki torches. Wayne had parked out on the street. Gerard got in the car and turned on the radio so Wayne could listen to his baseball came. They drove back along the boulevard, not speaking really. Wayne was an easy guy to be quiet with. All the stores and restaurants were open and full of light. The sidewalks were crowded.

Wayne pulled into a parking lot. He got out of the car and stood waiting. Gerard got out. They were at the little store that sold magazines and comics.

“You looked like you could use some new reading material,” Wayne said.

Neither of them were touchy people, but Gerard couldn’t help it. He threw his arms around Wayne’s waist and pressed his face into Wayne’s chest, just for a second before pulling back. Wayne looked surprised and pleased. Gerard’s heart ached a little bit; he was glad but he was filled up to the roots of his hair with a horrible stillness too.

Wayne bought him a stack of comics, and then they drove home. Wayne watched the end of his game on the big TV in the living room. Gerard sat with him and thumbed through his comics but he felt weird and empty and couldn’t focus his eyes on the words to read. When the game was over Wayne walked over and patted Gerard’s shoulder and went up to bed. Gerard sat in front of the flickering TV seeing nothing and feeling nothing until he saw headlights in the driveway and knew that Mikey and Donna were back from the party.

\-----

He didn't say much to Donna after that night. He was sore at her for reasons he didn't understand, kind of sore at the whole world. Mikey -- the traitor -- struck up a friendship with those preppy asshole guys. He hung out with them at the beach and went with them to the water park at the south end of the island. Gerard frowned when he saw them one morning waiting in the driveway in a flashy silver convertible coupe. Wayne was busy most days. The house was usually empty.

Frank worked at Pinky's Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Gerard rode Donna's rusty beach cruiser down to the dock as often as he could on those days. He drew or painted for a while, then walked to the little public beach and sat on the sand and read or if it was very warm sometimes even went swimming. Frank took his lunch at one o'clock. He always seemed surprised and pleased to see Gerard. They sat on the end of the pier, and Gerard smoked a cigarette while Frank ate avocado and tofu cream cheese sandwiches. Frank got off at three so Gerard hung around until then. Then sometimes they'd ride to the ocean and sit on the beach. Gerard came armed with sunscreen, and anyway after his sunburn faded he ended up pretty tan. He was cursed with Mediterranean skin.

It was never really like that first day. It was never quite as good as that. But Frank was fun and almost always in a good mood. He told great stories and didn't tease Gerard too badly for wearing an undershirt at the beach. Gerard tried to keep his dangerous thoughts locked in a strongbox in the back of his mind, but it was hard. Frank was so pretty. His eyes were the color of honey. It didn't help that he walked around shirtless eighty percent of the time. Gerard tried to appreciate the fact that Frank wanted to be his friend, and tried to squelch the desire for anything more than that.

On Fridays the beach was too crowded for Frank's tastes. Sometimes, they went sailing, but the Friday before the Forth of July, the bay was bedlam. Jet skis buzzed like annoying hornets, and people zoomed past in speedboats, skimming over the surface of the water.

"No point in going out today," Frank said. "Not with all these idiots around."

They were sitting on the hood of Frank's Corolla, looking out at the water.

"What do you want to do?" Gerard asked.

Frank shrugged. "Dunno," he said.

He was quiet. Gerard didn't like this. He wondered if Frank had gotten sick of him. "You want to come hang out at my house?" Gerard asked.

Frank smiled. "At the mansion?" he said. "Yeah, okay."

There was nobody home when they got there. Frank followed Gerard up the long driveway covered in crushed white shells. Gerard dug for his key in the bottom of his bag. The living room was dark. Gerard flipped on the lights and dropped his bag onto the couch.

"This is it," he said.

"Home sweet home, huh?" Frank said. "I love the lamp."

There was a floor lamp in one corner in the shape of a lifeguard stand, the shade decorated with cartoonish seagulls.

"I asked Donna if we could hide it in a closet," Gerard said. "But apparently we've got to respect the owner's belongings."

Frank grinned. "Dude, I'm serious. That thing is awesome."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Awesomely ugly."

Gerard gave Frank a tour, so he could see the rest of the weird decor. Frank's favorites were the huge hideous taxidermied fish hanging in the second floor landing and a ship's wheel on the wall in one of the empty bedrooms.

“Where’s your room?” Frank asked.

“Oh,” Gerard said. “It’s kind of a mess in there.”

“I want to see your art, man,” Frank said. “Come on.”

Gerard’s room was a mess, but not as messy as his room in the city. There were some clothes thrown on the floor. Gerard picked them up and tossed them in the hamper. Frank flopped down on his unmade bed. Gerard squirmed a little. Frank rolled over onto his stomach and reached for some of the comics stacked on the ground.

Gerard pulled out the desk chair and sat down. He didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t really his room, after all, but still he felt weird having Frank here. He turned on the radio. Frank leafed through the latest volume of The Sandman.

“So, um,” Gerard said. “I guess I can show you my portfolio.”

Frank looked up. His hair was in his face. “Sweet.” He sat up.

Gerard dug his black portfolio case out of the closet. He unzipped it and laid it flat on the floor. A lot of the stuff was old, and most of it was kind of bad. He shuffled through the papers.

“Lemme see that,” Frank said. He reached down and took one of the papers from Gerard’s hands.

It was a self-portrait Gerard had done as part of his senior project. There was nearly nothing Gerard hated as much as self-portraits – and this one was more mortifying as most. He’d done a series of himself in the guise of his favorite comic book characters. “That’s just something for school. It’s not very good …”

“No way,” Frank said. “I like it. It’s you right?”

Gerard blushed. “Yeah,” he said. “We had to draw ourselves as part of our final project this year. I think every teacher I’ve ever had gives that assignment, and it always sucks.”

“I think it’s pretty cool,” Frank said. “You’re supposed to be like a superhero, right?”

“Yeah,” Gerard said. His cheeks were bright red.

“That’s cool,” Frank said. “You really like comics, huh?”

“Yeah,” Gerard said. “I really wanted to study cartooning in college.”

Frank looked at him. “Well, why don’t you?”

“I’m going to Dartmouth,” Gerard said, glumly.

Frank flipped through the rest of Gerard’s portfolio. He didn’t ask many questions. Gerard wanted to get up. His feet were tingling and his knees were aching from crouching on the floor. Frank was right next to him. Gerard almost couldn’t stand him being so near.

“You’re really talented,” Frank muttered. He looked up. His eyes flashed. “Oh man, Gerard! You have to design me a tattoo.”

“I could do that,” Gerard said. “If you wanted.”

“Of course,” said Frank. “That would be sweet. I’ve really been wanting to get a pirate ship on my arm.”

“Yeah, I could definitely do that,” Gerard said.

“Awesome,” Frank said, grinning.

Gerard started to put away his portfolio. Frank poked through the crap on Gerard’s desk. Downstairs, the door slammed. Someone – several people, from the sound of it – raced up the stairs.

“Gerard,” Mikey shouted, bursting into Gerard’s bedroom. “Gerard, hi.” His glasses were askew and his nose was burnt red. Those prissy friends of his crowded in the doorway.

“Gerard, can I go to the boardwalk?” Mikey asked. “Ryan’s going to drive. We’ll be back by midnight. Okay, maybe by one. But not late.”

Gerard frowned. “I don’t know, Mikey,” he said. “Why didn’t you call Donna or Wayne?”

“They didn’t pick up their phones,” Mikey said, pouting.

“Mikey, I don’t know,” Gerard said. “Call them again.”

“Come on, man,” one of Mikey’s friends said. It was the chatty one, Brendon. “It’s totally fine. We go down there all time.”

Frank spun, suddenly. “Urie,” he said, frowning. “Stop trying to corrupt the youth.”

“What are you doing here, Iero?” the tall kid named Spencer asked.

“What are you doing here?” Frank asked. “I guess this is your kind of place, though, isn’t it?”

Spencer rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips. “Listen, you don’t have to be such a bitch because of what happened last summer. It’s not like it was my fault …”

“Yeah, not your fault,” Frank said. “I’ve heard that before and I still don’t believe it.” He closed his eyes. “Gerard, where’s your bathroom?”

“Uh, second door on the left,” Gerard said. He was tense. He didn’t know what was going on.

Frank pushed past the boys in the doorway and down the hall. Gerard heard him shut the bathroom door, hard.

“Can Mikey come with us or not?” Ryan asked.

Gerard sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Gerarrrd,” Mikey said. “Please! You know Mom won’t care.”

“Fine!” Gerard said. “Fine. I don’t care. But when you get in trouble you’re not pinning it on me.”

Brendon gave Mikey a high five. “Thanks Gerard,” he said, beaming. The two of them dashed down the stairs, Spencer and Ryan following more sedately behind.

Gerard waited until he heard their car back out over the crushed rock of the driveway. He walked down the hall and knocked on the bathroom door.

“Frank?” He said. “Um, they left.”

He heard the door unlock, and then Frank stepped out.

“What was that?” Gerard asked.

“I have history with Smith and his cronies,” Frank said. He smiled. “I didn’t want to have to punch a dude.

\-----

The bay was strange at night. Light danced over the waves. The sky was dark and there were more stars than Gerard had ever seen outside of a planetarium. He wrapped his arms around himself. It was a humid night on shore, air heavy, flies buzzing, but on the water, a cool wind blew.

Frank was buzzing. “Oh man,” he said. “I love fireworks. You have no idea.”

“I never really watch them on the fourth of July,” Gerard said.

Frank gasped. “Sacrilege!”

Gerard shrugged. “I guess it just seemed like too much work when I was in the city. You have to go downtown to be able to see, and it gets crowded so you have to get there early and stuff.”

“It’s never too late to be a patriot,” Frank said.

Gerard snorted. "Yeah right," he said. "When we did a President's day pageant when I was in third grade, I got cast as Robert E. Lee."

Frank laughed. "I didn't know you were a thespian."

"Oh god," Gerard said. "I'm not, believe me. I haven't set foot on a stage since I was eleven."

"So it's not your life's secret ambition to become a Broadway star?" Frank asked. "Damn, I had you read all wrong, Gerard."

Gerard shoved him. "Give me a break. People would run from the theater screaming in terror."

Frank laughed again. They were a little drunk. Two empty beer bottles rolled back and forth in the damp at the bottom of the boat. They weren't in Lydia tonight. They'd taken out Frank's dad's motor boat. Gerard was so glad Frank had called him; Donna and Wayne were in Atlantic City with friends of theirs. Spending the night with Mikey and his friends would have been worse than being alone.

Somewhere, far off in the dark, something shrieked and whizzed and a bright popcorn-puff of sparks exploded. Frank clapped, even though it wasn't an official firework, just someone messing around in their backyard.

"Oh man," Frank said. "I wish I could have gotten my hands on some explosives."

"They don't sell them in Jersey either, huh?" Gerard asked.

"Nope," Frank said. "One of the guys from the boat usually picks me up some on his way back from Florida, but he didn't go down this winter."

"We went to Florida last summer," Gerard said, idly. He picked at the wet label of his half-empty beer.

Frank made a face. "That must have been fun," he said, but more quietly.

Gerard shrugged. "It was really hot, y'know? And there were so many bugs. I would rather have stayed in the city. We went to Cancun the summer before. It was miserable. "

“I bet,” Frank said. His voice was sharp and unfamiliar. “Where’d you go the year before that? The French Riviera?” He hunched over so Gerard could only see a sliver of his face.

“What? No, we didn’t go there.” Gerard had fucked up somehow. He knew it. He didn’t know what he’d said but Frank was pissed at him. His throat got tight. Sour worry twisted his stomach. “I’ve never been to France in my life.”

Frank laughed again, but it was a harsh unfriendly noise. He stood up and shook a cigarette out of his pack. His face was gilded orange for a moment by the lighter’s flame. He took a drag, held it, and exhaled.

Another explosion shook the stillness of night. Gerard jumped, startled, and then wrapped his arms around his knees. That familiar sadness was filling him up – a sort of empty hollow. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go home and lie in bed with the covers drawn up and listen to Mikey’s iPod until he stopped thinking and stopped feeling and fell asleep.

But he couldn’t leave. He was stuck here with Frank, who was mad at him, who might never have liked him at all, until Frank decided to take the boat in. He tried to do the calming breaths thing the school therapist had taught him, but as he inhaled his chest shook and he felt a sob coming on.

Frank coughed again.

“Your brother’s hanging out with Smith and those guys?” he asked.

“I guess,” Gerard said. His voice shook just a little.

“Why didn’t you go hang out with them?” Frank asked. “They’re probably going to watch the fire works from the Yacht Club … the shoot them off right down the beach from there.”

Gerard frowned. “I’m not really friends with them.”

“You’ve got enough in common,” Frank said, just barely audible.

“What are you talking about?” Gerard said. “They’re like a posse of Hollister models.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m sure you’d find something to talk about. You could commiserate about all of your miserable international vacations or something.”

Gerard was miserable. “I’m not … I didn’t mean it like that, Frank,” he said. “I’m not one of those spoiled rotten brats. We lived in Newark before Donna married Wayne. Mikey and I used to get the reduced price lunch at school.”

Frank didn’t say anything at first. Gerard put his head on his knees and closed his eyes as tightly as he could. Sounds of revelry traveled across the water from other boats. The fireworks would probably start soon – one of Frank’s favorite things, and Gerard had ruined it.

“I didn’t mean to jump down your throat,” Frank said.

Gerard looked up. “It’s okay,” he said.

“It’s just … When I saw those assholes at your house, I thought maybe I’d been wrong, maybe you were just like them.”

“No,” Gerard said. “I’m not. Guys like that like to shove me into lockers.” He wiped his eyes on the collar of his shirt.

Frank made a frustrated noise.

“What did they do to you?” Gerard asked.

“Last summer, the day before the regatta, they frayed a bunch of Lydia’s lines,” Frank said. His voice shook like he was trying very hard to keep himself calm. “Halfway through the race, I was in the lead, but then my main line broke. I was dead in the water. The coastguard had to come get me. It was fucking mortifying. I beat them in the junior regatta six years in a row before that. I guess they were sick of not getting their way.”

Gerard knew how much Lydia meant to Frank. He couldn’t imagine that anyone – let alone those dopey friends of Mikey’s – would do something so underhanded for a damn boat race. “That’s terrible,” he said. “What did you do?”

Frank shrugged. “Took me a month to save the money to buy new lines. Smith won. That asshole rubbed it in my face for the rest of the fucking summer.”

“Wow,” Gerard said. “If someone did that to me I don’t know what I’d do. How’d you find out it was them?”

“Who else could it be?” Frank exclaimed. “There’s nobody else who has it out for me the way Smith does, and I’d checked Lydia over from top to bottom the week before.”

“What are you going to do?” Gerard asked.

Frank smiled the broad bright smile that made something deep inside Gerard go melty. “I’m going to beat them,” he said.

Gerard didn’t know what to say then, didn’t know if he’d apologized, didn’t know if Frank was still angry, but he didn’t need to because there was a shout and a roar and the first fireworks lit up the sky. Frank sat down and stared up at the sky. Gerard tried not to stare at the long fine line of his throat, the slight curve of his Adam’s apple. Between each explosion there was a hush. The drunk buzz was ending; Gerard just felt heavy, each limb made of lead.

“Dude,” Frank said. He scooted over so he was next to Gerard. “You’ve got to ‘Ooh and Aah’.”

“What?” Gerard asked.

A rocket blossomed into a rosette of pink and scarlet and silver.

“Oooooooh,” said Frank. “Aaaaaaah.”

Gerard giggled.

Frank elbowed him. “You got to do it, man. This is essential to the experience.”

“Oooooh,” said Gerard. “Aaaah.”

Frank gave him a thumbs up.

Together they oohed and they ahhed. There were fireworks like flowers, like golden palms, like great creeping spiders. There were some that exploded to look like a cloud of smiling faces. Those made Frank clap and hoot.

“Oh man,” Frank said. “Oh man, did you see that? That was fucking awesome.”

“Yeah it was,” Gerard said. “This is really pretty cool.”

“Of course it is,” Frank said. “Did you think I was going to invite you somewhere lame? I’m the king of cool.”

Gerard couldn’t help but laugh. The terrible feeling was sinking away again. Frank was sitting very close. Gerard could feel his heat. He wanted to press closer, slip his arm around Frank’s waist. He wanted the heavy weight of Frank’s arm across his shoulder. He wanted to press his lips against the soft side of Frank’s neck.

“Dude,” Frank said. “Pay attention. The grand finale is coming.”

“The grand finale?” Gerard asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “This is the other best part. Close your eyes and count to ten and make a wish.”

The explosions came fast. The sky flashed bright and dark. Sparks fell through the sky. Frank was right there, so close. Gerard closed his eyes and wished.

\-----

“This is great, Gerard,” Virna said. “This is what I’ve been expecting of you.”

“Thanks,” Gerard said. He shoved his hands in his pocket, shy.

“The style you’ve used is unusual,” she said. She tapped the paper. “You’re going to study illustration in the fall, I assume?”

“Yeah,” Gerard said. He glanced at the floor and then said, “Or cartooning.”

“Not sure yet?” she asked.

“Not really,” he said.

“Well, you’ll figure it out,” Virna said. Gerard didn’t need any cliché advice, but he knew she meant well.

“One of the most difficult things in the world is learning how to ask for what you truly want,” she said. “But once you do, things will come together.”

Gerard smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I think … yeah.”

Virna laughed. The earrings she was wearing were made of dozens of tiny metal stars suspended on fine silver chain, and as her head shook they chimed. “Keep the faith, Gerard,” she said, spinning on her heel to address the next student.

Gerard smiled to himself as he got his canvas from the cupboard and smiled as he squeezed blobs of acrylic onto his paper plate. He felt glad, glad for almost everything for the first time in a very long time.

\-----

A girl named Gillian was having a party at her big house on the water, and Frank was invited. Frank didn’t talk about them much, but obviously he had friends. He wasn’t a loser. Gerard was just nervous because he’d never met any of these friends. He didn’t know much about them at all. Gerard was never very good around new people, and he knew he’d be a disaster around the friends of someone he liked as much as he liked Frank.

He showered and sat on his bed in his boxers having a quiet freak out about what to wear. Gerard didn’t go to a ton of parties in the city, but he’d been to some, and sometimes they were kind of fancy. This probably wasn’t like that, but still, he felt like he ought to wear something nicer than sloppy jeans and a sweatshirt. In a sick way he almost missed the days when Donna used to leave his clothes laid out for him.

Thank god he was dressed when Frank rang the bell. He stepped into his sneakers, pushing the tongues up under the laces, and raced downstairs. Donna had her hand on the door.

“I’ll get it!” Gerard said. Donna jumped back, startled.

Frank was standing with his hands in pockets.

“Hey,” he said. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” said Gerard.

“Gerard,” Donna said. “You aren’t going anywhere without introducing me to your friend.

Gerard sighed. “Ugh,” he said. “Donna, this is Frank. Frank, this is my mom, Donna.”

Frank beamed. “It’s so nice to meet you,” he said.

“Likewise,” Donna said. “Have fun tonight. Don’t let Gerard be too much of a stick in the mud.”

Gerard wasn’t sure if he ought to kill Donna or kill himself. Either way, he was mortified.

“Okay, we’ll see you later,” he said, hustling Frank out the door.

Donna watched from the window until they were out of the driveway.

“Oh man,” Gerard said. “Sorry about that. Donna is … She’s kind of much.”

“No way,” Frank said. “I don’t mind. She’s cool.”

“Okay,” said Gerard, although he didn’t really believe Frank.

On the way to the party they stopped and picked up Frank’s friend Bob. Bob was a big guy with blonde hair. Frank ran out of the car and gave him a monkey hug. Bob staggered over to the car and dumped him on the hood. Frank rolled off and rubbed his head.

“Bobby, this is Gerard,” Frank said as he got back into the car.

“Hey man,” Bob said. They shook hands. “I see Frank’s persuaded you to put up with his sorry ass.”

“Hey!” Frank said, twisting around in the driver’s seat to try and punch Bob.

“Yeah, I’m just doing him a favor,” Gerard said, laughing. “Actually, no. Frank’s been really great. I don’t really know anybody else around here.”

“Well that’ll change tonight,” Frank said. “This party is going to fucking rock. Everyone is coming.”

They stopped so that Bob could buy a handle of whiskey and a bottle of rum with his older brother’s ID, and by the time they got to the party it seemed as though everyone was already there. Gillian’s house was at the end of the street, and there were cars parked everywhere: on the driveway, in the front yard, all along the street. Frank parked four blocks down.

“Gerard,” he said. “Can I entrust you with my keys?”

“Um, sure,” Gerard said.

“It’s an awesome responsibility,” Frank said solemnly. “Last time I gave them to Matt and he dropped them in a bowl of punch. But I think you’re capable.”

“I think you’re capable of being a douche,” Bob said, stepping on the back of Frank’s sneaker, tripping him.

Gerard clipped Frank’s keys to his wallet chain. They felt heavy and odd. As they approached the party, Gerard could hear the thud of loud music and a chorus of chatter. He was getting nervous – his throat felt tight and his chest ached a little. He didn’t dare say anything. Frank was talking to Bob. He was wearing very tight jeans and sneakers with pink skulls on them. He looked so good.

The front door was wide open. There were only a few people inside. Bob and Frank deposited their booze in the kitchen and went out into the bank yard. It was full of people. There were two kegs stuck in garbage cans full of ice. Luminaria with cut-outs of hula girls glowed pink and green.

Frank grabbed Gerard’s hand and made a beeline for the beer. A tough guy with a shaved head was manning the tap. He handed them both red plastic cups of frothy dark beer. Gerard took a careful sip. It was very bitter. He didn’t like beer much.

“Come on,” Frank said. He took Gerard’s hand. “You’ve gotta come meet Jamia.”

They wove through the crowd of people. Gerard’s beer slopped over the side of cup and wet his hand. Two people were standing on the dock. Frank ran up and gave the girl a huge hug.

“Jamia, baby,” he said. “The sight of you is like water to a man dying of thirst.”

Jamia laughed. “Smooth, Frankie,” she said. “Stick to guitar. I don’t think you’ve got the makings of a lyricist.”

Frank stuck out his tongue. “Gerard appreciates my poetic nature,” he said “Oh yeah, this is Gerard.”

The girl stared at Gerard appraisingly. She was short and cute, with dark sleepy eyes. “Hey,” she said. “Frank talks about you.”

“Um,” Gerard said. “Huh.”

Oblivious to any weirdness, Frank said, “Jamia put gum in my hair when we were in kindergarten. I’ve been taking my revenge ever since.”

Jamia had been in Florida with her grandparents for five weeks. She and Frank spent forever catching up. Gerard stood near them and sipped his beer. They knew each other so well. Gerard felt like a stranger. He couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound trite or obvious. Other people came up to say hi to Frank. Frank always made a point of introducing Gerard, but still, it was weird. When he finished his beer he cracked his plastic cup.

Someone came up and said to Frank, “Yo, man, Matt’s here and he’s looking for you.”

“Oh shit,” Frank said. He was loose and sloppy, just a little drunk. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared into the dark. Gerard stood there for few moments. Jamia stared at him, her dark eyes completely blank.

“So um,” Gerard said. “This is fun.”

Jamia frowned a little. “Frank really likes you,” she said. “He wouldn’t shut up about you on the phone.”

Gerard felt his stomach drop out. “Really?”

“Yes,” Jamia said. “He said he didn’t know if you were interested. I told him he ought to go for it. Frankie’s not very good at reading people, sometimes.”

Gerard swallowed. “Um yeah,” he said. “I guess not so much.”

Jamia shook her head. “Guys are such melon heads.”

Gerard snorted.

“Seriously though,” Jamia said. “Don’t be a pansy, man. You gotta make your move.”

She watched him for another moment and then turned and walked down the dock and back into the yard. Gerard let out a long breath he’d been holding. He knew what Jamia said, knew Frank was close enough to her that he ought to follow her advice, and yet he didn’t have any idea what he was going to do. He wanted to drink more, wanted to get so drunk his lips tingled and his eyes felt heavy, but he didn’t want to go get another beer. What if he ran into Frank? What would he say?

There was someone smoking at the end of the dock.

“Hey,” Gerard called. “Can I bum a smoke?”

“Sure,” the guy said.

Gerard walked down to where he was sitting. The guy took a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it. Gerard couldn’t see him well in the dark. He closed his eyes as the smoke filled his lungs.

“Thanks,” he said.

“No prob,” the guy said. He looked up, his dark fringe shading his face. “Hey, I know you. You’re Mikey’s brother. I met you at the beach.”

“Oh yeah,” Gerard said. “Pete, right?”

“Yeah,” said Pete. “Hey, where the fuck has your brother been?”

Gerard flicked a bit of ash into the water. “Um, he’s been around.”

Pete frowned. “He’s been blowing me off, dude.”

“What?” Gerard asked.

“I was teaching him to surf, right,” Pete said. “We had a standing appointment every Thursday afternoon, but he’s flaked out on me the last two weeks.”

“Oh,” Gerard said. “I don’t know. He’s been here. I guess … um, he’s been hanging out with these new friends a lot.”

“Yeah,” Pete said, frowning. “Patrick told me he saw him with Ryan Ross the other day.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “That’s weak, man. I can’t believe your brother ditched me for Ryan fucking Ross.”

“Um,” Gerard said. “I don’t really know.

Pete pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Shit,” he said. “Patrick’s here. I gotta go, dude. Tell your brother to stop breaking my heart.”

Pete sprung up and jogged down towards the yard. Gerard closed his eyes again. The water was dark and smooth like oil. It was not a very warm night. Gerard wished he’d worn long sleeves. All he could think of was Frank: Frank’s smile and his tattoos and his nose ring and the breadth of his shoulders. Mostly, he thought about the incredibly improbability that Frank liked him too, in that way.

He stayed out near the water until he was done with Pete’s cigarette. It was nicer here. He didn’t want to go back in the crowd. The moon was half full and bright. If it were quieter, it would be lovely. But he thought of Jamia. She was right. He couldn’t be a pussy. He couldn’t bear the thought of something so dear and so close slipping away.

The yard was more crowded. There was a band playing on the deck. The din was impossible. Gerard didn’t see anyone he knew, which wasn’t surprising since he knew only four people. The kegs were empty. There were cases of Natty Light ripped open on a picnic table. Gerard opened one and downed half of it, grimacing at the taste. Someone bumped him from behind. Frank’s keys jingled. Gerard spun.

“Hey,” he said. “Have you seen Frank?”

The guy looked addled. “Upstairs, I think,” he said, and then he turned and vomited in a pot of coleus.

The kitchen was a disaster. Someone had dropped a tray of ice cubes on the floor. They were half melted. Gerard slipped and had to catch himself on the stove. He kicked as much of the ice as he could under the refrigerator. A couple were making out on the big couch in the living room. The stereo was on high. Kids were dancing. The wood floor was coated with dark, sticky grime.

Upstairs it was quiet. The guy outside was probably wrong; why would Frank be up here? The television was on in one of the bedrooms, but nobody was watching it. The other doors were shut. Gerard didn’t want to knock. He didn’t belong up here.

At the end of the hall there was a sliding glass door, half open. Gerard stepped out onto the balcony. White bougainvillea grew up the railings. Palms in ceramic pots sat in the corners. Frank lay on his back on the ground. Someone else lay on their stomach on a rattan chaise.

“Hey,” said Gerard. The noise seemed distant up here.

Frank sat up. “Gerard,” he said. He smiled.

“Hi Frank,” Gerard said.

“Are you having fun?” Frank asked.

“Yes,” Gerard said. “I am.”

“Good,” Frank said. “Good. C’mere.”

Gerard sat down cross-legged at Frank’s side. Frank poked the guy sleeping on the chaise.

“Matt,” he said. “Wake up.”

Matt groaned and rolled over. “Dude,” he said.

“Hey,” Frank said. “Hey. Gimme …”

“Ugh,” Matt said. “Take it yourself.”

“Too tired,” Frank said. “So tired.”

“You lazy fuck,” Matt said. Then he rolled back over.

“M goin’ to sleep,” Frank said. “Come sleep with me.” He grasped at Gerard’s hand. His palms were sticky.

Gerard shifted so he was beside Frank. He lay down. The deck was hard. His lower back hurt. The sky was huge. Gerard had never seen stars like these. The noise of the party ebbed and peaked in a tide.

Frank was breathing slowly, but Gerard could not believe he was asleep.

“Frankie,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Frank said. He didn’t open his eyes.

“Frank,” Gerard said again.

Frank blinked lazily. “What’s up?” he asked.

Gerard did not have the words. Frank was pale and so beautiful. He closed his eyes and opened them. Gerard could feel those cheap weak beers now. His stomach had gone sour. They could lay here just like this forever, or …

Gerard leaned over. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Frank’s mouth. Frank was suddenly, wonderfully alert. His eyes shone.

“I didn’t …” he started to say, but Gerard wouldn’t let him. He rolled over so he was just pressed flush against Frank’s side, and kissed Frank again. Frank smiled against his mouth and pressed against him and there was nothing Gerard could think then but dark and warmth and soft.

\-----

“What about these?” Donna asked, brandishing a package of sheets.

Gerard shrugged and stared at his feet. There was a black smudge on the toe of his sneaker.

Donna made a frustrated noise. “Okay,” she said. “What about these?”

“Sure,” Gerard said. He pulled his phone from his pocket. He had no new messages.

“Oh really?” Donna said. “And I suppose you’ll want the matching Hannah Montana bedspread, too.”

Gerard looked up. His mother held the pink bed sheets over the cart. He snatched them away. “Donna!” he said, voice a little shrill. “My dorm is going to be geek central without your lame themed bed sheets. Why can’t I just use the sheets I have now?”

“They’re not the right size, Gerard,” Donna said. “That letter said you need to get extra long, and I want you to have a set to bring for orientation. I don’t want you using the sheets they provide.”

Gerard rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he mumbled. “That’s like, weeks from now.”

“Try next week,” Donna said. “Wayne’s already taken off of work to drive you up.”

Gerard froze. “No it’s not,” he said. “It’s not until the end of July.”

“Right, genius, and what’s today’s date?”

Gerard pulled out his phone again. He still had no new messages. His stomach twisted. It was the twentieth. “Fuck --” Donna glared. “Sorry, sorry. I just didn’t think it was so soon.”

Donna threw a package of plain blue sheets in the cart. Gerard didn’t protest those. “Is it possible you’ve actually been having fun this summer?” she asked.

Gerard frowned. “I guess,” he said.

Donna smirked. “Amazing. I thought this was hell on Earth.”

Gerard shoved his hands in his pockets. “I guess it’s not as bad as I thought,” he said.

Donna looked satisfied. “I bet by the time we leave you’re even going to miss it.”

Gerard checked his phone again. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Maybe.”

\----

The bay was a smooth, silvered mirror. The sky to the west was still dark. The other way the sun bobbed brilliantly over the edge of the sea. Gerard couldn’t remember the last time he’d been up to see the sunrise. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been up before eight. Not since school ended, surely.

He sat at the end of the dock. The tide was high and his feet just skimmed the water as he swung them back and forth. Everything was calm; tension seemed impossible in the face of the ocean’s magnificent stillness.

 

( _and that's where it ends :(_ )


End file.
